Heartbeat
by MadreLoca
Summary: I need to know, I need to FEEL that my brother's alright.  I guess I'm just paranoid.  Slash?  Or just brotherly love?  Interpret however you wish.


Title - Heartbeat

Summary - I need to know, I need to FEEL that my brother's alright. I guess I'm just paranoid. Slash? Or just brotherly love? Interpret however you wish.

Rating – T, simply for the possibility of being interpreted as slash

Comments – I got the idea for this story while talking to pizzazz (how I get along so well with a slash author is beyond me) She said I should try to write slash. I told her no, just because of my personal beliefs. She respects that, but challenged me to at least write something that "Slashers and straight writers can both see something in." I said, "Like what?" She said, "Keywords: Sleeping, first person POV. Have fun." So I did.

I'll just lay there some nights in a room that's dark save for the street lights peaking through the sheets pinned up over the windows serving as curtains. One this stream of light crosses the face that, tonight, I can't take my eyes off of. He looks so peaceful laying there in the deepest of sleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, slowly. The look of childlike comfort on his face allows me to assume that his dreams are peaceful.

It's surprising as well as reassuring that, after all we've been through, after everything that's happened to us, after everything we've done, that we can have a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep, if only every once in a while. Tonight is one of those nights. For him anyway. My brother is in dreamland, but I just can't seem to get back to sleep. _Back_ to sleep is because I wake up a lot at night. Sometimes I awake with a start and my head jerks over to whatever side of me he happens to be on that night. Maybe it's from a dream where I can't remember what happens, but I just get a strange feeling that something's wrong. For a split second I imagine horrible things; that he's being attacked by one of our countless enemies, that he's over there bruised and bloody and dead or close to it, or that he's simply gone without a trace. He isn't, though, so I guess I'm just paranoid.

Tonight I had almost shot completely out of bed and even had trouble catching my breath. He never wakes up when that happens, a fact that I'm glad of. I don't want his to start worrying about me, then _he_ wouldn't get any sleep either.

I know there's only one thing that can let me sleep after something like this happens. I don't like to do it, (well, I _like_ to do it, I just don't like to _have to_ do it) because it makes me feel like even more of a paranoid freak than I already know I am. I'm going to have to do it tonight.

I get up from my bed and walk slowly, carefully, quietly towards him. The room feels dark when my body blocks the light from the window from shining on his face. I don't like the dark feeling, so I step to the side to allow the light to touch him again. I sit down on the edge of his bed and slowly extend out my hand. I always hesitate slightly because I'm afraid of waking him. He's never woken up for this before, but there's a first time for everything. As gently as I can, I let my hand descend on his chest. I press against him only slightly, just enough to feel what I need to feel: his heartbeat. There is no change in his breathing or on his face. I smile slightly, silently proud of how sneaky I can be sometimes. But I'm not doing this to be sneaky. I'm doing this because I need to know that my brother is alright. I need to _feel_ that he's alright. I need to know that those forgotten nightmares that leave me terrified for him are just manifestations of the stress in our lives and not something that I've somehow let happen to the owner of the heart that I feel pulsing under my hand.

I sit there for several minutes memorizing the steady rhythm of his heart, of _my_ heart (there's never been a difference) and how it flows together perfectly with his quiet breath like harmony and melody. The song they create is more beautiful, calming, reassuring than any lullaby Ma ever sang to us.

That's when I notice something. Contrary to popular belief, our hearts don't beat at the same rhythm. Mine is a split second after his. Maybe he really is the older brother, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop starting fights regarding the matter. At any rate, I guess this just means that there's no way my heart can beat without his, and there's no way I can sleep before I feel that heart that keeps me alive. Now that I've felt that he's alright, I can feel sleep tugging down on my eyelids and I know it's time for me to return to my own bed. I reluctantly pull my hand away from him. I stand slowly, careful that I don't shake the bed and wake him.

Once I return to my bed and pull the bedding up over my shoulders, I turn to face him again. I focus on my own breathing, evening it out with his. Once my breathing steadily flows along with his, my eyes slip shut and I join my brother in peaceful dreams.


End file.
